


Practice Makes Perfect

by Gourmet



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gourmet/pseuds/Gourmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking the phase shifter out for practice made sense. A lot of sense! The better Smokescreen got with it, the more useful he'd prove himself to be. Then again, dropping the thing while he was midway through a wall probably wasn't the best testament to his skill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://snowfellafterdark.tumblr.com/post/95138251790/skymachine-i-honestly-tried-to) piece by skymachine and [this](http://snowfellafterdark.tumblr.com/post/95129346965/chikachikaslimscreen-the-exciting-and) piece by chikachikaslimscreen on tumblr! 
> 
> It's an excuse to write Smokescreen getting fingered through a wall. I really have no better defense for this than that.

It had been an accident.

Okay, sort of. Dropping the phase shifter had been an accident. Getting it back out of the chamber they'd been keeping it in, not so much. But, seriously, he was hands down the best bot to wield it. (Well, maybe not. Optimus would probably do an awesome job, too. But aside from that!) It only made sense that he take it out and get some practice with it, right?

Besides, what else did he have to do when he was stuck at the base? He understood being the rookie on the team. Technically speaking, at least. But he wasn't useless! He should be out there with the rest of team, helping out, doing recon, blasting 'Cons. Not haunting the base like _Ratchet_.

So, really, taking the phase shifter out for practice made sense. A lot of sense! The better he got with it, the more useful he'd prove himself to be. Then again, dropping the thing while he was midway through a wall probably wasn't the best testament to his skill.

It didn't take long for panic to set in. No matter how much he wriggled or thrashed (attempted to thrash, honestly), he couldn't inch his way any further out of the wall. And the stupid phase shifter was _so close_. If he could lean the rest of the way over, he could pick it up - it was right between his pedes! Well, between his pede and the tip of the other that hadn't come all the way through the wall. And anyway, only his right arm was free of the wall, the other caught back by the elbow, and no amount of twisting or stretching was getting his servo any closer to the floor.

But really? He wasn't all that concerned with the whole getting stuck thing. It was the fact that he was going to be seen like this that bugged him. If he couldn't figure out a way to get the phase shifter back up, the rest of the team was going to show back up, and eventually they'd start looking for him and he'd look like an aft. And get yelled at on top of that. Well, probably a stern talking to. Optimus wasn't really much of a yeller. But that just made it worse, didn't it?

"Argh!" he half-shouted, venting hard when a renewed bout of squirming got him exactly nowhere. No, no, no, no! He couldn't get found this way! He was going to look like even more of a rookie! "Way to go, Smokes. Did a real bang up job on this one," he muttered, scowling at the phase shifter below him.

He hung there for a few moments, trying to come up with some sort of a plan to get himself out of this. Thankfully, the position wasn't too uncomfortable. A little odd, and the sensation of being pinned in such a weird array of places was...strange. Not bad. Just strange. Actually, in other circumstances, it might not have been that bad at all. Okay, okay, so maybe he didn't have the most extensive, hands-on experience with interfacing, but he wasn't completely naive. A mech could fantasize right?

Although, between the main hall and the rec room wasn't exactly the spot he'd have chosen. Somewhere more private, definitely. And maybe not so much of him on the other side of the wall. He could do it with just like...his servos and a knee or something like that. That would be enough. That way he could still see what was going on. It's not like he'd be in any better of a position to do anything about it. Completely at another mech's mercy like that. That was the main part of the fantasy, right?

He hadn't noticed how totally off task he'd let his processor wander until his cooling fans clicked on. The noise startled him back into the present, and he could feel his faceplates heating when he realized there was definitely lubricant starting to seep around the seams of his interface panel. Oh, scrap. This was definitely not a position he wanted the team to come back and find him in! He'd just gone and made it worse!  

"Focus, Smokescreen, focus!" he demanded of himself, fighting to override his fans before resuming his fight to reach the phase shifter.

Honestly, between his daydreaming and frustration, he'd completely forgotten that the base wasn't actually empty. Sure, most of the team was out on recon, and he'd been left at the base. But he wasn't the only one. There was, in fact, one other mech that was repeatedly left behind.

"I- Smokescreen? What in the name of the Allspark are you doing?!"

He froze in mid stretch before the noise - the voice - cut properly through his processor, and he jerked his head up, automatically trying to twist around to see the speaker on the other side of the wall. Scrap! Oh, scrap!

Ratchet!

"I..uh...n-nothing! Just...testing something!" he called, wincing a little at how much of a blatant lie that sounded like - even to him.

"Uh huh. Would that something you're testing happen to be how to misuse the phase shifter?" Ratchet demanded, and Smokescreen was a little grateful that he didn't actually have to see the irate, unimpressed expression he knew must be on Ratchet's face.  

Sure enough, a huffing ex-vent could be heard through the wall a moment later and Ratchet sounded appropriately self-righteous when he spoke up. "You do realize that I have work to be doing, don't you? I don't have time to also be making sure you're..not..."

Smokescreen frowned slightly and looked over his shoulder. There was, of course, a flat, metal wall there instead of Ratchet, but he couldn't help himself. It wasn't like Ratchet to just trail off in the middle of a reprimand - especially a really well deserved one. It wasn't until he felt something cool and viscous sliding down the inside of his thigh that Smokescreen realized what might have caught his attention.

"S-Scrap!" he hissed, automatically trying to slam his thighs together. Of course, the wall lodged between them kept that from working. Instead he ended up shaking his aft, and he made a slight, horrified sound when the trail of lubricant slid around the underside of his thigh and dripped off, undoubtedly onto the floor in the hall.

Primus spare him. He would rather go pede to pede with the Unmaker himself than this.

"A-Ah..ah, I..! I mean it's n-not what it looks like..! I d-didn't...uh-"

He jolted, and his vocalizer cut into silence when a firm hand landed on his hip, forcing him still.

"Calm down," Ratchet ordered, tone sharp. "You're going to hurt yourself at this rate. This is exactly why you've been told not to play around with that thing!"

It should have been chastising. And, to be fair to Ratchet, it totally was. He got himself into a stupid situation. It just...was also getting under Smokescreen's plating. There was something about the tone of Ratchet's voice that was making his systems run hot. A tremble ran out over his frame despite his best efforts to stop it, and there was no way Ratchet didn't notice. Not with the wide expanse of his hand curled around Smokescreen's hip, or with him being probably at eye level with his doorwings.

"T-Totally right! You're totally right!" he insisted quickly, cringing when he felt more lubricant welling up at his seams. Stop, Smokescreen! Get it together! "N-Never should have done it!"

Ratchet did not, however, immediately jump to agree with that. Instead there was a minute flexing of the fingers against his plating, and the next thing Smokescreen heard was the rev of a low, powerful engine.

That was immediately followed by the sharper _snick!_ of his interface panel snapping open.

A whine escaped his vocalizer before he could find any words to properly express the mortification that shot through him, and he clapped his servo over his mouth. He was going to combust. Every part of him was about to overheat, and he would be consumed by the fire of his embarrassment and never have to face the medic again.

And rather than giving him enough incentive to get his panel closed again, the thought made his valve clench, forcing more lubricant out to build up a slick sheen on his thighs.

There was a low groan on the other side of the wall. "By the Allspark," he heard, and the words were familiar. But the low, rough voice they were uttered in was not.

  
His valve clenched again, and he was suddenly acutely aware of how how accessible he was. How _wet_ he was. And the heat radiating from the chassis behind him. He bit down on his lower dermal plate behind his palm and squirmed again. "R-Ratchet..."

Nothing behind him for the next few kliks suggested Ratchet had heard him. Which might have been for the best. He hadn't really sounded as needy as he thought he did just then, right? He definitely didn't want to come across as-

"Hnn!"

He went briefly rigid when a thick finger ran straight up between the folds of his valve, dragging lubricant with it, and as soon as the finger withdrew, he shuddered. Hard. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before the wet digit returned with another. Ratchet stroked those fingers lightly against him, barely touching, really. But before he could complain, they dipped in, just a bit, between the soft rubber and mesh, stroking gently and then scissoring apart, spreading his folds open.    

Smokescreen whined again, high pitched and laced with a bit of static. In retaliation, he pressed his servo harder against his mouth, feeling his core temperature climb another notch when Ratchet spread his fingers a little further apart. Oh, Primus. He'd never felt this...exposed before. And it certainly didn't help that he could feel a steady trickle of lubricant pouring out over the rim of his valve, completely unimpeded now thanks to Ratchet.  
  
Seeming to take mercy on him after what could only have been an intensely scrutinizing several minutes, Ratchet slid his fingers away again, letting the gray folds of Smokescreen's valve come back together, hiding the uselessly grasping calipers behind them.

Smokescreen slumped as well as he could in the wall, trembling and struggling to cycle cooler air through his vents. His frame was too hot and his valve was leaking, and he kept forgetting how he'd gotten into this position in the first place. There were little sparks of charge jumping up over his thighs and doorwings and it took longer than he would have liked to get control of his vocalizer.

"Ratchet-"

The medic's hand collided with his aft hard enough to make his vents hitch.

"You don't seem particularly _sorry_ , Smokescreen," Ratchet spoke up, and Smokescreen wasn't at all proud of the whine that slipped from him. "This is an important artifact, and it could be dangerous in the wrong hands."

As if to emphasize that point, those steady digits slid down again, rubbing against his exterior node, and Smokescreen tried to buck his hips. Thankfully, Ratchet didn't seem to be particularly keen on teasing much more than that, not with the threat of the rest of the team sure to return soon. Smokescreen bit down on his own fingers when one of Ratchet's finally pressed into him, giving his eager calipers something to bear down on, and he found himself even more flustered by the husky chuckle he was just able to make out through the wall.

But he didn't care anymore - if he was a rookie or if he sounded desperate or if he was being stupid. He was so wound up - running too hot and shuddering every several ex-vents. All he wanted to do was to shove himself back on Ratchet's finger. His current predicament - stuck in a wall still, awesome - ensured he couldn't exactly do that, but it didn't keep him from trying.

The finger inside of him stroked around the opening of the rim, brushing over the node clusters near the edge before pushing deeper. And it wasn't long before a second joined the first. And a third after both of those once his calipers had loosened and relaxed enough to accept them.

"Ratchet! P-Please!" he gasped, shoving his hips back as best he was able. Even through the wall, Smokescreen could hear the lewd, wet sounds Ratchet's fingers made thrusting in and out of his valve, and it made him clench harder around him. He could only imagine how badly he was leaking over the medic's servo. And then a few more digits from another servo stroked along the underside of one of his doorwings poking out through the wall, and Smokescreen shouted, all whining noise and static.

The fingers buried inside of him curled, hard, and dragged over his ceiling node.

Smokescreen's optics shuttered and he tried to jerk. "R-Ratchet! Ratchet, I-I need...s-sorry! I'm sorry!" he gasped through the hiss of static and the jumps in his vocalizer. "I-I'll stop messing a-around with the phaaah!"

It didn't take much longer. If he'd been any less wrapped up in the moment, Smokescreen might have been embarrassed by that, but then Ratchet rubbed his fingertips hard against the sensitive cluster of nodes against the ceiling of his valve, catching the blunt edge of his digits over them as he pulled back before knocking roughly back against them when he thrust back in.  

His vocalizer whined, sharp and high, before cutting out completely, and he was left in silence as he jerked and poured lubricant over Ratchet's fingers. The overload shot hard through him, wracked his frame with shudders, and left him disoriented for several kliks while a few systems rebooted.

By the time he focused his visual feed again, Ratchet was no longer behind him. In fact, the red and white mech was standing in front of. He would have even looked composed if not for the darkened color of his optics and the way his fingers were dripping lubricant on the ground between them. It was with that wet servo that he finally reached down, picking up the phase shifter and forcing it into Smokescreen’s hand.

He barely had the chance to wrap his own fingers around the device before Ratchet was using it to jerk him the rest of the way through the wall. His pedes weren’t prepared to support him, not after his brief suspension within the wall and certainly not after the force of his overload. Thankfully, Ratchet was close enough to catch him, grabbing a shoulder plate and holding him still until he stopped swaying.

Smokescreen still couldn’t look at him.   
  
"...I...R-Ratchet, I’m sorry…”

Damp fingers caught him by the chin and tilted his helm, forcing him to meet Ratchet’s optics. The intensity of that stare made his vents hitch, and Smokescreen suddenly found himself wondering what was behind Ratchet’s interface panels. If he was as revved up as the heat radiating from his chassis suggested. Slaggit, he hadn’t even gotten his processor in order enough to close his own panel.

“I think you learned your lesson, Smokescreen. Don’t you?”

"Well...I mean, yeah, but...I could still use some practice,” he ventured after a moment, and when Ratchet’s primary panel snapped back, he revved his engine and dropped heavily onto his knees.


End file.
